Adam breathed hard as he tried to take control of himself. What had come over him to kiss this Englishwoman so? It could be the setting. While he had seen the scene before him thousands of times, he had never done so through her eyes. The way she had explained it sounded like lyrics to a song, and he had never taken the time to fully appreciate the beauty the land just the other side of his front door held.

Or perhaps it was her. He looked at her now, her long auburn hair cascading down her back after he had released her, the red of it shining in the sun. Her blue eyes reminded him of the water below, and they were dreamy now as she looked up at him. Her lips were rosy from his kisses. Aye, she looked like she had been completely and thoroughly kissed.

Adam knew two things. The first was that he should never, ever have kissed her. The second was that he wanted to again.

He cleared his throat and looked away, over her shoulder at the sky behind her.

“We’ve tarried here far too long,” he said, somewhat gruffly. “We must get a move on.”

She nodded, saying nothing, and as he noted the innocence about her, the way she looked at him made him feel like an ass. Clearly, the kiss had meant something to her. Perhaps it was due to the serious conversation they’d carried out prior, or perhaps it was the effect of the setting. Whatever it was, she had to understand that this would be the last of it, that there would be nothing further between the two of them.

“Will your fiancé be missin’ ye?” he asked, knowing it would anger her, as he set into a bit of melancholy himself.

“I do not have a fiancé,” she said, throwing up her hands in frustration as she turned to walk back to their horses. Good. He had raised her ire. Perhaps now she would forget any other emotion toward him.

“That’s right,” he said. “I remember. But what else will you do, if you do not marry the man? Will your father support you forever?”

“No,” she said, and he regretted his question when he saw the look of panic cross her eyes. “I suppose I shall find someone to marry eventually. And if not, then I will work.”

“Work?” he asked her. “What would you do?”

“I’m not sure, really,” she replied.

As she took his arm to regain her balance, he belatedly remembered the wound in her leg. He hoped she hadn’t hurt it walking down to the water, but she seemed fine besides the lack of balance over the craggy rocks.

“But I like to stay busy. I enjoy learning new tasks, and if my father will not allow me to work or do business in his company then I will have to go elsewhere. Perhaps to another company like my father’s, if he truly refuses to allow me to work for him. Or perhaps I shall work as a secretary. I have the skills and am very organized.”

“I dinna doubt it,” he said. “Though I canna see you taking orders particularly well.”

She seemed to ignore him as she mounted her horse, refusing his help.

“Lead the way, kind sir,” she said mockingly, and he found the path once more, staying silent as he led them up and out of the valley, on toward Darfield.

They barely spoke for the first part of the ride. It wasn’t extremely far to Darfield, but he went at a much slower pace than he typically would have ridden it himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her skills on a horse, but more so that he didn’t want the stitches in her leg to open up if there was too much jarring. His mother had given him fairly precise instructions.

They had just crossed over onto MacTavish land — though, really, it was all now one and the same since Finlay and Kyla had married and the agreement between the clans had been forged — when the first raindrop fell. Adam felt it on his bare shoulder, as he also noted the heat had dissipated from the wind. It was not cold, per say, but nor was the day warm any longer. Perhaps the unusually warm weather was finally breaking.

He looked back. Rebecca wore only her light summer dress, and he cursed himself for not having more foresight on her dress in case the weather should turn inclement. In the Scottish Highlands, no weather was guaranteed, no matter the time of year.

He looked up at the sky, which had grown darker by the minute, and he prayed the rain would hold off until they arrived.

“How does your leg fare?” he called back to her. “Can we pick up the pace some?”

“I’m fine,” she said back to him, over the wind that had begun to pick up. “Do not worry about me. I shall stay right behind you!”

Of course he would worry about her. The woman looked liable to be blown away by a breeze, let alone this stiff wind. He urged his horse into a fast canter and looked back to ensure she was following, as she said she would.

She was a determined one, that was for sure. As fast as they rode, however, it seemed they were only going deeper into the eye of the gathering storm, and before long the rain was coming down in droves, drenching both of them. Adam knew they were not far from Darfield, but when a crack of lightning rent the sky, he realized it was more imperative that they find shelter — and quickly.

He looked around him, taking stock of where they were. They had neared the hunting lands, and he knew there were makeshift shelters in case of such events. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, picturing their location.

“There’s a hunting cottage nearby!” he yelled back at her. “We’ll stop there until the storm clears. Follow me!”

He knew the storm might be over in moments, but one could never be sure. He crashed through the brush of the woodland as he left the path, taking her through the trees, where the effects of the storm had lessened, but where they were more at risk of being hit by a falling tree.

He was relieved when the small shack popped into view, and he helped her down before tying the horses to a branch under the overhang of the shelter. Adam grabbed his saddlebag and ushered her inside, closing the door behind them. The silence was instant, taking the place of the howling wind that had assaulted their ears for so long.

He looked over at her, and as he did so, he quickly averted his gaze and tried not to stare. The rain had melded the entire thin gown to her skin, and he could see every curve of her body. No longer did he think of her as having a childish build, rather, he now knew she was very much a woman.

He took in their surroundings. There was a small wood stove, a couple of chairs, and a cot. The shack was here for moments such as this — when inclement weather arose and kept hunters waylaid for usually a few hours, at most. He dumped the contents of his saddlebag on the bed, taking his extra plaid and passing it to Rebecca.

“Here,” he said gruffly. “This should help you stay warm.”

She nodded her acceptance and wrapped the garment around herself as he set to starting a fire in the wood stove.

“I can show you how to tie that if ye’d prefer to wear it while you dry your dress,” he said, realizing she’d get a chill in her cold garments despite the summer weather. She looked on as he instructed her on how to tie the wrap, and she nodded her understanding.

“I’ll wait outside while ye change,” he said and made for the door.

“No,” she stopped him. “No need to go out there again. If you turn your back, that will be fine. But first — could you untie me?”

She turned around and he swallowed as he walked toward her, taking in the laces that kept her sodden dress together. His fingers, so agile with his fine tools, deftly untied the knotted, wet lace before he loosened it enough that she would be able to slip out of it on her own. He tried not to think of her body under the gown, which would be revealed as she slid out of it.

“Should be fine now,” he said, then walked away with his back to her, torn between needing to get as far from her as possible to keep from acting on any foolish impulses — again — and from not wanting to return to the rain.

He tried to focus on something — anything — else.

“You can turn now,” she said after what seemed like ages. “I’ve tied it properly — I think.”

He did turn then, and was shocked by the sight in front of him. He was taken aback at the feeling of possessiveness that overcame him when he saw her standing there in his clan colors. She had draped the plaid over her shoulder as he had instructed, tying it out front. It was huge on her, of course, and her elfin body was dwarfed by the massive folds of fabric. And yet she looked … warm and comfortable, soft and inviting.

“Very good,” he said gruffly, trying not to watch her too closely as she crossed the floor and laid her dress in front of the stove to dry. “Would you like an oatcake?” he asked her, holding one out.

“An oatcake?” she asked, her eyes widening.

“Aye,” he said. “Please dinna tell me ye’ve never before had an oatcake.”

“All right,” she said, smiling. “I will not tell you that.”

“Good heavens,” he responded. “I grew up on these things. We’d never sit still at the table, so when my father sent us to bed without finishing supper, my mother would stuff these in our pockets to eat later on. Here, try one. Trust me, they’re not as bad as they look.”

She raised her eyebrows, but took it from his hand. He watched as her small, perfect teeth bit into it, and the rather surprised look crossed her face.

“It’s not bad,” she said, and he let out a bit of a laugh.

“No, not bad at all.”

“Tell me more of your family,” she said, sitting in one of the two roughly hewn wooden chairs around the small table.

“My family? I believe you came to know them fairly well,” he said, taking the chair across from her.

“Yes, but I’m curious of the roles you each have. What do you do most of the day? I know Finlay is the chieftain, but what of Roderick? Your father?”

He nodded contemplatively then told her about the affable Callum, who had traveled and stayed in the Northwest Territories, of Finlay and Kyla’s marriage, which brought the clans together, and of the great Duncan McDougall, who all respected. He told her of Roderick, his charm and free spirit, and what their various roles were in their home and the community.

“It’s changed somewhat, now that we have you tourists,” he said. “We never had the Lowlanders or the English on these lands before, but we do what we must to survive.”

“That’s why you begrudge us,” she said. “Because you would prefer we were not here at all. These are your lands, and you invite us here not out of welcome, but desperation.”

“I suppose you could look at it like that,” he replied.

“You’re not at all like I thought you would be,” she said, looking down at her hands, which twisted the plaid she wore round in her fingers.

“Oh? You had thought I would be something else?”

“Not you specifically, but Highlanders in general,” she said. “Scotland is becoming more and more… fashionable, I suppose you could say, in England, what with the Queen’s interest in Balmoral and your traditions. And yet, the Highlanders are still often romanticized if you will. You are still seen as the people you likely once were centuries ago, and not who you are today. Does that make sense?”

“Indeed it does,” he responded with a sigh. “Some are content with that. But not me. We’re proud of our traditions, but we also want to be recognized for who we truly are.”

“That makes sense to me,” she said, standing and walking over to him, before surprising him by kneeling in front of him.

“I shall forever be glad to have met you and your family,” she said. “I never thought … I never truly understood, I suppose, how a family should and could behave. I will always remember you and your support of one another, and I shall strive to emulate it for as long as I live.”

She looked up at him, her eyes earnest, and he wondered if she knew what she was doing to him. He could see each and every freckle on her nose, and he longed to trace them with his fingertips. Leave her be, he told himself, and he leaned back, away from her. She persisted, however, and the next thing he knew, she stood up and leaned against him, her lips on his, his hands on her waist, and his thoughts were swept away by the softness of the woman in his arms.